


being okay is vastly over-rated

by WannabeMarySue



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blood and stuff, M/M, but the locus principle still applies, written before the big felix and locus reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WannabeMarySue/pseuds/WannabeMarySue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the one where Locus has a flare for sadistic dramatics, Wash is still a freelancer, despite his tellingly humane tendencies, and Sarge and Donut are just really fucking done with anything that does not involve their lovely little box canyon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	being okay is vastly over-rated

**Author's Note:**

> Dumb little drabble written for a friend on tumblr, figured I'd post it her just because. Trigger Warning for some blood and stuff (also I totally just picture Locus as being really dramatic, but in a totally sadistic, asshat-y way so basically this is just a headcanon drabble)

Wash shifted his weight to the left slightly, trying to subtly regain feeling in his ass, the hand cuffs--long since warmed to his body temperature--rubbed against the red, scabbed skin on his wrists. He ignored it and shifted again. He stopped moving when he heard Locus outside the door, the feather-light footsteps of the mercenary echoing endlessly in his head. The cell door opened slowly, and Locus walked inside, making a show of closing and locking it behind him.

"I saw your boyfriend today," the mercenary said with a smirk, his gravely voice adding a sharp edge to the conversational tone. Wash said nothing, just stared with blood-shot, out-of-focus eyes at the wall behind Locus' head.

"He and his pathetic little sim-troopers are attempting to form a rescue team for you, twinkle toes, and Mr. T over there." Locus leered down at Wash, waiting for a reaction. None came. Wash refused to meet his gaze, giving nothing away. Just like when he had heard the explosions outside of his cell, when Locus had informed him of his face to face encounter with Tucker in the computer room. Just like he had when he had realized Locus was just toying with the Rebel army.

They were barely surviving, and no amount of training or luck or whatever the hell had kept the Blood Gulch soldiers alive this long was going to save them when Locus got tired of his little game.

Wash remained still, refusing to look away from the wall, refusing to play the game Locus had so carefully crafted for all of his enemies. Finally, the mercenary snorted in exasperation.

"Suit yourself, but one day, I’m going to kill him. And you will crack then. I promise." Locus left the cell.

Wash sagged, his arms hanging loosely in their chains. Images of Tucker flashed rapid fire through his head. Blood dripping down the front of his armor, bullet holes riddling his face, his eyes--usually so filled with passion, anger, humor, always swimming with some kind of emotion--empty and lifeless.

Wash could feel Sarge and Donut staring at him; he straightened his back, meeting their eyes with the same steely intensity that he had leveled at the wall behind Locus' head as he had imagined absolutely eviscerating the man who _dared_ to threaten any of the men who had miraculously defied all odds in what must have seemed like an endless war against unbeatable enemies for so long to only be thrown _here_ to suffer in another war, to get attached to more people who were just going to die. Because that's all that ever happened in war, people died, and most of the time it was your own damn fault.

"They’ll be fine," Wash said to Sarge and Donut, "I mean, how many times have they been almost killed. Nothing Locus can do will phase them."

Donut smiled halfheartedly, Sarge grunted. It wasn’t much, but hey, it could have been so much worse.


End file.
